Sinful Strokes
by SlytherinMalfoySnape
Summary: Lincoln knows he shouldn’t get such a thrill from marking his baby brother. The wrong side of discipling Michael. WARNING: Disturbing themes. BDSM kink. Sexual elements. Incest undertones.


**Sinful Strokes**

**Summary:** _Lincoln knows he shouldn't get such a thrill from marking his baby brother... It's seductive and it's crossing over into the sexual realm in the most perverted way. _Lincoln and the aftermath of disciplining Michael. It's meant to be a bit wrong and disturbing. BDSM kink. Sexual elements. Incest undertones.

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Lincoln knows he shouldn't get such a thrill from marking his baby brother. Such seductive power. It's like marking his property, claiming him for himself. It's crossing over into the sexual realm in the most perverted way. 

He knew it was a bad idea but he had Michael strip naked for his punishment and lay across Lincoln's lap so he could atone for his sins. He'd wanted the humiliation to be part of the punishment. The sight of the lithe, soft, obedient body laid across his knees bucked in agony from the first scorching lick gave Lincoln such a raging hard on that he could not believe it. For a fleeting moment, he worried his brother might think he was sick but Michael was too busy trying to hide himself, embarrassed at his nudity. He clutched tightly to Lincoln's leg so he won't slip off. Lincoln swooped down brutally on Michael's unprotected rear and his brother made no noise but his back arches in brilliant suffering. It was enough to show that Lincoln is making his mark. When the burning torture causes Michael to lose control and reach back, Lincoln traps his brother's slim wrists in his large palm, pinning them to the sweaty skin of Michael's back without missing a beat. Michael's head bowed in defeat and he mutters an apology: he knows the rules. Lincoln smiles and makes the apology worthwhile as he curled the next stroke up into the tender inner thighs. When the tip of the belt makes contact with the sweet target, Michael dug his nails painfully into Lincoln's flesh to keep from crying out. Lincoln understood it was fair game although he could still feel the panicked sinking of his brother's claws through his jeans.

Lincoln can tell when he's about to shatter his baby brother's pain threshold. Michael's feet start kicking with every crack of the leather and he's breathing heavily, panting all over Lincoln's lap. Lincoln shifts uncomfortably, himself catching his breath and allowing his brother to do the same. He can tell Michael knows he's close too with him clenching and unclenching the muscles in his bruised buttocks. Lincoln will wait until Michael is relaxed before slashing his belt through the air and snapping the tail smartly across both cheeks. Michael releases a controlled whimper of pain and Lincoln can taste his ecstatic victory. The older brother never tries to make Michael cry not only because he would have to beat Michael black and blue at least ten times over before it'd happen but also because he knows his younger brother would be too proud. He would rather pass out from the pain than acknowledge it. Michael will always deny Lincoln that pleasure because as vulnerable as he is, he meticulously delights himself on his dignified reception of his punishments.

After the climax (that being Michael's vocal response in Lincoln's opinion), it doesn't really matter how the beating goes. No matter how hard or how soft Lincoln hits him; Michael will resign himself to bear the rest with as little resistance as possible. He will lay like a rag doll on Lincoln's knees, his eyes glazed over with unshed tears even after the it's all over. Lincoln beat him severely once because he lost complete control over his temper. Some dark part of his mind also confesses that he wanted to see Michael just break. He wanted to be the one to make Michael lose his characteristic calm; he wanted to make Michael need him somehow. He wanted to make Michael plead for him to stop. Sometimes he really had to wonder who had the control when he was beating his brother. While he was holding the belt, Michael held himself. Effectively, he almost had the reigns of the whole situation. Lincoln didn't get much more from Michael besides the same soft moan every now and then. Even when he first drew blood, Michael is mutely limp and submissive. Lincoln justifies to himself that Michael is so much older now, so much stronger. That if he really wanted to, he could wrestle the belt out of his older brother's hands or scramble away from the dreaded implement. Lincoln thinks that if he's the epitome of a sadist then Michael is every bit the perfect masochist.

They both had to endure the thirty or so strokes. Each stroke throbbed with agony. Pain and pleasure enmeshed. Lincoln was the artist, creating his art on flawless skin. His heavy work belt would paint dark purple marks on Michael's once porcelain globes and thighs. In turn, Michael's fingers leave faint pinkish bruises in the shape of handprints on Lincoln's thigh.

When Lincoln throws the belt down he goes to his room and slams the door for effect. But really he's not angry. Not at Michael's sins but those of his own mind – those he's about to commit. He just needs some privacy to jerk himself off like some horny teen. He was so hard that it hurt so when he was punishing Michael, the longer he did it, the longer he felt like he was punishing himself as well. He too could atone for being a bad example to his brother. He imagines each stroke of the belt marring his brother's pale skin and guiltily stokes himself to the memory. As he's pumping himself, he touches his own bruises to remind himself of the reality of it all. He tells himself he wants to shock himself out of the whole sick fantasy but it makes it so much better, the pain fading into bliss. It reminds him that Michael needs him. Lincoln casually remembers it took about twenty-five strokes to get a stifled groan out of Michael and he touches himself exactly twenty five times, replaying the strokes over and over in his memory before releasing himself into his jeans with a grunt. He's still hoping, stupidly wishing that the pained moan escaping from his brother's lips caused by him were also _for_ him.


End file.
